I wrote to you recently, and our letters, as usually happens, have crossed in the mail. I am well now, but Mama is still not feeling quite right—now it's heart palpitations, now she's caught a cold. We have a very nice apartment now, even with a piano. One of our acquaintances sings very well, and we have music in the evenings quite often now, though admittedly it's rather strange—the instrument wheezes, whistles, and rattles—but it is music all the same. Guests tire Mama out, and I too would gladly agree to have them visit less often; the only thing is that when I come home at 9 o'clock I'm already so exhausted that I can't accomplish much anyway.

A few days ago I received letters from Volodya—one took 2½ weeks to arrive, the other 2 weeks. It's terribly long for letters to be in transit.

Volodya advises me to take up English, but I hardly think I'll follow his advice. Now I've arranged with a German to study three times a week; things will go better that way. I've caught, it seems, Volodya's idée fixe—I want to master languages by any means necessary. Besides lessons and language study, I have other work now, which I'll tell you about in detail in the spring. There are only four months left until March, and then to you, and afterward to Volodya. Right now I don't allow myself to think much about this subject, or time will seem to stretch out far too long.

I don't know how to manage to get to Moscow in the spring; earlier it would probably be inconvenient to submit a petition. Well, what's the point in speculating ahead. Spring is far off; we have winter now, good solid winter. I wish that time would pass more quickly for you until Christmas, and at Christmas...*

in the collection:

Written November 8, 1900

Sent from Ufa to Moscow

First published in 1931

V. I. Lenin. "Letters to Relatives"

Printed from the manuscript